I switched off and went to the bathroom. Drank some water, dug out a good book, switched on my reading lamp and sat down for a couple of hours of glamorous molls and steel-eyed heroes.

Early afternoon, I rang Ellen.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Just checking if tonight’s still on.” We’d made arrangements to go for dinner together. The Golden Moon — I’d blow most of the week’s wages there, but Ellen was worth it.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she snapped.

“You’ve been busy lately. I thought you might want to beg off.”

“I have been busy but I’m no slave. I’ll make it. Meet you there at nine?”

“Nine,” I agreed and she hung up.

I called Nic next. She’d wanted to come on the fishing trip. Got in a huff when I told her it was guys only. I wanted to make things right but there was no answer. I let it ring till her voice mail cut in, then severed the connection — I hate leaving messages.

I took the trout out of the fridge, stared at it and sighed. It seemed a waste of time, going to all the effort of cleaning and cooking a pissant fish like this. But I didn’t want to throw it away — I wasn’t raised to dump good food. So I set to work.

As I was cutting off its head, I realized there was something in the trout’s mouth. Prying its jaws apart, I discovered a black ball. I dug it out, wiped it clean and held it up to the light. It was a pure black marble, with two golden worm-like squiggles down the sides. Puzzled — how had the trout taken the bait when its mouth was stuffed? — I laid it on a shelf over the bread bin and got on with the cooking.

A few hours later, in the smart-casual clothes I kept at the back of my tiny wardrobe for special occasions, I hailed a cab and went to meet Ellen, my recently decreed ex-wife.